a spring haze
slender contrails like first life
stirring in the sea
let it come softly
through clouds of wisteria
stilling the pulse of time
your eyes tenderly
aglow with the moon of May
as you remember
I’m pretty certain
this calico cat pities
my foolish ways
(The blossoms of wisteria that only last week came rolling over the garden walls in thick, fragrant waves are all gone now, but in the less trodden parts of the garden that my sister doesn’t bother to sweep every morning, their lilac-gray petals still cover the stone tiles and cushion my idle steps. Crushed wisteria petals interspersed with dry bamboo leaves form a lovely pattern on the tiles’ pink. This is how spring gently closes its first door behind me, and listening to the ringing silence is all I do these days.)
the silence is mine
each clear morn birds and ship horns
come splash against it
with soft steps the cat
without awakening the house
finds the sun on the roof
a languid feast
on a seagull or two
and the vast sky
plump magnolias
swoon on wet branches
rain all day
dandelions fade
as I watch the paper dry
gentle ghosts float by
the ripe blossom of
magnolia in the rain
looks back at me
spring pictures
a bruised white blossom
drinking in the rain
these fluffy things
that drift in the air in June
like my scattered brains
reflected sunrise
warm light climbing up the walls
glints of gold afar
found Teri again
(see past life, hers and mine)
the chant of her leaves
I drink the whiskey
the birdsong, the warmth, the light
all molten for me
while still half asleep
I cracked open the window
let the balm flood in
the tree breathing out
its soul a river of fluff
shivers in the sun
blackbird on wet rocks
never mind it’s the sewers
a tale almost spun
slender ankles
quick under the umbrella
splashing the warm rain
sun-drenched branches
holding me in a silence
snatched from bikers’ bells
in the silken night
alone with a hot coffee
and a single star
I could write something
but why bother when watching
this huge summer night?
balmy sweet
and vast with faint glitters
this night calls my name
storm-blue clouds folding
over a sleepy Sunday
the far boom of a train
the smell of wet soil
and the warm cup in my hands
mornings in July
it’s hard not to melt
into sudden silences
in a summer storm
textbook romantic
overbrimming with ripe greens
bubbles, death, and stars
I put my glasses
and my lizard smile on
to curl upon hot rocks
slender arms
on a far balcony
tending to flowers
out for a coffee
with pillow marks on my face
and all the sunlight
I give to the sun
a broken body and mind
both oddly grinning
respect the spiral
of life and destruction
in a cinnamon roll
another morning
finds me mildly concussed
well that’s about it
(Vacationing in Port Stanley, alone on the harbor)
crickets two geese and half a pale moon
my friends this morning
(Marcus Aurelius on my balcony)
summer dark
an old emperor and I
thundering green
summer darkling
even darker inside
sings the Emperor
no end to this rain
sings, sings, sings the Emperor
in a perfect drop
... Istanbul, Bodrum & London, Spring-Summer 2022
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(Photography and artwork by Duru Gungor unless indicated otherwise)